


Fixing Made Mistakes

by Sherlock1110, sherlockian4evr



Series: Sherlock and Mycroft Stuff [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Big Brother Mycroft, Boarding School, Brother Feels, F/M, Friendship, Gen, Holmes Brothers, Kid John, Kid Sherlock, Protective Mycroft, Teen Mycroft, To Be Edited
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-18
Updated: 2016-02-18
Packaged: 2018-05-21 11:31:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,592
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6050032
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sherlock1110/pseuds/Sherlock1110, https://archiveofourown.org/users/sherlockian4evr/pseuds/sherlockian4evr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mycroft tells his parents the only option for Sherlock is boarding school. He was angry, but Mummy took him seriously and convinces Mr. Holmes.<br/>(Christmas, barely speaks.)<br/>(Comes home for his birthday weekend and barely speaks.)<br/>He was bullied by a specific teacher at school.<br/>Mycroft figures it out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fixing Made Mistakes

It was 03:30 in the Holmes household and despite the extensive size of the second floor Sherlock's violin could still be heard from whichever bedroom any other Holmes was in.

That early morning it was his brother who stormed into his room. He snatched the instrument from under his neck, plucked the bow from the other hand and dragged him by the wrist to the bed. “Lay down, and go to sleep.”

Merely because his brother had put him there Sherlock could not oblige not straight away at least.

“I'm serious, Sherlock!” Mycroft yelled. His little brother flinched and settled back under the covers.

It wasn't as if Sherlock wanted to wake every morning around 3 or 3:30. It just seemed to happen. Even if he had stayed awake until 2, his eyes just popped open. Why couldn't his family understand? He pulled the covers up and over his head, trying to hide from the world.

He didn't mind it when his parents came in, well… he did when it was mummy. She usually smacked his bum. But he despised it even more when it was Mycroft, he always looked so disappointed. Sherlock hated feeling like a failure in front of his brother. Sherlock sighed. It would be forever before everyone else got up. He stared at the ceiling, tracing a crack that had appeared a few months ago with his eyes and started ticking the seconds off as they dragged by. His eyes shut and when they reopened he glanced at the clock. 7am. Yes! He sprung from his bed and paused by the door. He could hear his brother next door getting ready for school, it wasn't fair Mycroft got to drive in but father had ensured that as soon as he had turned 17 he had a licence.

When Sherlock headed down for breakfast a short while later it was to hear his parents arguing, they very rarely argued so he was keen to find out what was going on. He sat outside the closed door.

“Mycroft is right!” Mummy snapped.

“It was a passing suggestion, he didn't mean anything by it, I'm sure.”

“I'm not arguing with you, Siger, he is going to Eton.”

“But they don't allow day school. He'll be there all the time. He'll hate it.”

“It's not about what he wants. He needs an education and the tutors we hire quit within 3 weeks. He is going and that is final.”

Sherlock froze where he was. Thinking. Mycroft wanted to get rid of him? And so did mummy. He wiped his eyes on his shirt sleeve and as he heard footsteps come to the door he scrambled to his feet. He charged up the stairs and straight into Mycroft's room not bothering to knock.

“How could you, Mycroft? I'm your little brother. You're not even going to be here during the week anyway!”

“Sherlock? What are you talking about?”

The younger brother managed to keep ahold of his emotions as he left Mycroft's room and went into his own, sitting back against the door.

Mycroft stood outside his brother's room in the hall he waited to hear if anything went flying across the room from inside and then he knocked.

Sherlock didn't want to talk to his brother. Why should he? Mycroft just wanted him gone anyway. Sherlock called out, “Piss off, Mycroft!”

“Not until you tell me what's wrong!”

Sherlock pounded the floor with his fist. “You know why! Eton, Mycroft. It was your idea, wasn't it?”

Mycroft leant his head against his brother's closed door. “It's for the best. You need a good education and you won't be able to frighten the teachers off like you do the tutors.”

Eyes closed tightly, Sherlock refused to cry. That wasn't what this was about, they just wanted rid of him. It was that simple.

“I didn't even mean it at the time, 'Lock. But you wake the house up at stupid times of the night. Every night. At Eton they have the means to deal with you.”

Sherlock stood up and swung his door in, extremely hard, making the older boy stumble slightly. “What do you mean deal with me?! I'm not a bloody dog! Just because I'm 10 doesn't mean I have to go to Eton. And just because you did doesn't mean I have to! You promised me, you'd stop mummy! I hate you!” He slammed the door in his brother's face.

Sherlock didn't need to be 'dealt' with. He needed to be understood. He had thought Mycroft knew that, but his brother was just like everyone else - wanting to change him and make him into a good little boy. Make him perfect. He would try. He really would if it meant he could stay at home. Stay with Mycroft. But he wasn't wanted here. He ran and threw himself on the bed.

When the door opened again it was Mycroft but mummy was with him and she didn't look very impressed at the racket.  
She stood with her hands on her hips. “So you were eavesdropping again, Sherlock. If you don't want to hear things that are unpleasant, then you need to stop. But it's just as well you heard. You'll be starting Eton next week. Your application has already been processed.”

“Mummy, this isn't fair.”

“I have to agree with him. What I said was in anger. I didn't mean it.

“You only said what I have been thinking for a very long time. You are 11 in January Sherlock, it's high time you learn to grow up.”

“But term's only just started,” he argued. “Can I at least-”

“No!”

Mrs. Holmes turned to leave the room, but paused. “There's a list downstairs of everything you're to take. It shows what you need and what's allowed as well as what's not. After you eat, you can have a look at it and decide what to pack.”

“I'm not eating and I'm not packing. If you hate me so much that you want rid of me, you can pack!”

“'Lock-” Mycroft started.

“You can piss off as well!”

Mrs. Holmes' lips were pressed into a thin line. “Very well, you can stay up here and starve for all I care. When you change your mind and agree to pack, you can come down and join us. Until then...” She grabbed her oldest son's arm and pulled him behind her as she left the room. “Come along, Myc.”

The door shut behind them and Sherlock heard Mycroft's protests. “You can't just leave him! You know he won't eat if you give him the chance.”

She snorted. “Even a boy like Sherlock will eat when he gets hungry enough.” At the look on Mycroft's face, she added, “And there will be no sneaking food up to him either.”

As if Mycroft would, Sherlock thought. As if his brother cared enough to even try. He would show Mummy. He could go days without eating, had done. Mycroft had been away, so no one had noticed. He could do it again.

However on day 3 of not going down the stairs, he heard the distinctive sound of his mother's footsteps.

She swung the door open wide. “You are going to Eton. Now. I had thought if you could behave…” she trailed off with a shrug. “I will take you as your father is busy at work.”

Sherlock objected, “But I haven't packed!”

“Well I have, but only the necessities. If you wanted anything more, you should have thought of that before.”

“Mummy, can I please just-”

“No, Sherlock, go and get in the car.”

With a last glance at his mother he sniffed and stropped towards the stairs.

The journey was dull and neither occupant in the car spoke to one another. When Mrs. Holmes pulled the car into the carpark at Eton she was surprised that Sherlock got out without a massive argument first. He pulled his case from the boot, his face looking thoroughly deflated.

“Are you going to give me a hug?” She asked.

Sherlock looked over at her, his scowl obvious. “I would hug the old mummy. The old mummy who cared about me.”

“I do care, Sherlock. If I didn't...” Her voice trailed off as Sherlock walked away, not wanting to hear whatever it was that she had to say.

He went up the stairs of the nearest building and paused just before entering. He made his face blank and told himself that he had to be good. Maybe if he were, he could at least get Mycroft to send him his violin. It was the only thing he had wanted to bring with him, but he had thrown the chance away during his hunger strike. Maybe even better, if he was good he could go home. Mummy had said the reason he was here was because he scared away all his tutors. If he was well behaved he might get to go back to being home schooled.

The letter he had read in the car had said he was in room 177. It wasn't hard to find and when he did it was to spot a blond boy sat on one of the two beds.

The blond boy stood and, very seriously, held out his hand. “John. John Watson.”

Sherlock looked at the boy's hand then back up at his face, unsure what was expected of him. Mummy had tried to hammer some social skills into his head but it had been no use.

John grinned then reached out and grabbed the hand at Sherlock's side and shook it. “It's called shaking hands. You do it when you meet someone for the first time. What's your name?”

Sherlock looked away. “Sherlock,” he mumbled.

“What, Sherlock Holmes?”

That got the brunette's attention. “You know me?”

“Well, your brother… his photo is up by the headmaster's office. Prefect wasn't he?”

“Oh yeah. For three years. He's at college now.”

“That's alright, I won't hold your brother against you,” John teased as he plunked himself back down on the bed. “What do you think about this place?”

Sherlock looked this new boy up and down. “You look surprised to be here.” He looked around absently. “It's not that bad.”

“It was the fact it's amazing rather than the fact it is not that made me ask.”

Sherlock turned and looked him up and down once, twice, then nodded. “Of course.”

“Of course?” John asked, slightly wrong-footed.

“Your aunt been dead long?”

“I'm sorry?”

“You've moved into your aunt's house recently. With your dad not your mum, that's odd.”

“Why's that odd?”

“Well you look as if your mum dressed you and yet you've got all the new clothes for this place which suggests its cost a fair bit to buy so much clothing in one go and yet your looking bemused by the building rather than offended but it wasn't your father's sister that died, but your mothers… that's odd, your father being given all that money when it was your mother who was blood related.”

John wasn't even going to ask how he knew all that. “How'd you know I didn't move in with my mum as well.”

“Because then you'd have moved in with your sister too. And yet here you are coming to a school only a few years ago would have been impossible and you're not slightly surprised to be here. Your mum is with your sister because they both have a drink problem despite your sister's age. Your aunt always had a close relationship with you, closer than her sister so the house was left to your father so you could have a better life.”

Sherlock braced himself for the anger that was sure to come his way, but it didn't.

John looked at him with awe on his face. “I was wrong. This place isn't amazing, you are!”

“I am?”

The blond boy nodded.

“That's not what mummy usually says.”

“No? What does she usually say?”

“Go to your room.”

“Does she say that a lot?”

Sherlock nodded and made his way across the room. He dropped his case on the other bed and then sat next to John. “I didn't want to come here. She made me.”

“Oh.” John looked down at his shoes as he swung his legs. “I wanted to come. It's a great opportunity. I'm going to be a doctor someday.”

“I'm going to be a pirate, so I don't really need to be here.”

“A pirate?” John chuckled.

Sherlock felt like he should be offended but he wasn't. “Or a private detective.”

“School will be good for that.”

“I've never been to school before. Mummy always got tutors to teach me.”

“Wow!” John exclaimed. “You must really be rich.”

The dark haired boy shrugged. “I suppose. It doesn't matter though, the tutors were all idiots, so it was a waste of money.”

“Idiots?”

“One tried telling me Napoleon wasn't real.”

“Napoleon?”

“Yeah. We were doing history and I brought him up. He was the best one I had until that.”

“So your mum is making you come here?”

“Apparently I don't behave like a Holmes should. This will teach me some manners.” Sherlock shivered at the thought but knew a school such as Eton, manners were inevitable.

“Well, manners are important. You want people to like you, right?”

Sherlock scoffed. “People are idiots.”

“You use that word a lot.”

“I meet a lot of idiots.”

John laughed. “Am I an idiot?”

Sherlock looked him up and down. “Yeah. But you're my idiot.” He expected the boy he had known for no more than 10 minutes to get up and leave instead, he laughed again.

“Well you missed form. But the first class is in a few minutes.”

“Boring.”

“You'd better get changed.”

Sherlock sighed and opened his case. Pulling out his uniform, he made a face. It was acceptable, but only marginally.

John giggled. “Really, it's not that bad. A bit posh, but still.”

That wasn't Sherlock's complaint at all. The uniform was just so... uniformy.

“Oh I see,” John said. “You've never worn a uniform before, have you?”

Sherlock shrugged dismissively. “Never needed to.”

The bell rang just outside and the sound of the corridor filling with footsteps echoed into the room.

By the time Sherlock was struggling into his blazer, he turned to see John still sitting there. “You waited?”

He nodded. “You need to change your shoes too.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes, but changed them quickly. He didn't care one way or the other if he was late to class, but for some reason, he didn't want to make John late. Strange, that.

“Why did you wait?”

“Because you have no idea where you're going.”

“You could have just told me where you are first and I could have met you.”

“We won't be going to the same place. Aren't you a first year?”

Sherlock shook his head. “Second. At least mummy did that for me.”

“But you're… 10.”

“Yeah. But I'm a clever 10.”

John laughed. “You must be. I did wonder why we were sharing a room.” They arrived just outside the classroom. “I'll warn you right now, Mr. Gregson is... well, you'll see.”

Sherlock took one look at Mr. Gregson and knew. The man was an idiot, just like his tutors had been.

***

2 weeks in and apart from John the entire experience had been horrendous. Thanks to the one teacher. Mycroft had sent him a letter but he hadn't read it. So had mummy but he hadn't read that one either. He'd read father's. It had said how much he missed him and how strange it was around the house without him.

Sherlock had been determined to prove his brother wrong but more importantly, mummy wrong. He could behave. He would behave. Maybe, just maybe, if he didn't get any bad reports he could go home.

“Holmes, what is this?”

Sherlock glanced up at his teacher in surprise. “My homework, sir.” Mentally finishing off, which is stupid really because we don't go home, but it all stayed inside his head.

“Your homework…” at Sherlock's nod, he continued. “Then why on earth does it look like the school chickens have got hold of it and run across the page?”

Sherlock liked to think his hand writing was neat. Mycroft had taught him, after all.

“Well, boy?”

“I- I don't know, sir.”

“You don't know?”

Sherlock shook his head, ignoring the stares he was getting from the rest of the room.

“Well maybe you'd better stay behind after class, we might be able to work it out then.”

Sherlock nodded, he could see how this would all escalate very quickly. John was watching him as the teacher made his way back to the front again. “You ok?”

“I'm fine.” Sherlock growled under his breath.

John whispered, “I don't know why, but he doesn't like you. Just ignore him. You're handwriting is fine.”

“I know it is,” Sherlock shot back. “He doesn't like that I'm smarter than him.”

“It can't be that, Sherlock, he didn't like you from the moment he met you. He didn't know how clever you were then.”

“He knows I'm Mycroft's brother. Of course he knows I'm clever.”

When the bell rang Sherlock shot out of his seat. “Sit down, Mr. Holmes,” Mr. Gregson glared at him.

John hesitated at the door, not wanting to leave Sherlock behind, but he gestured for him to go on.

The dark haired boy's shoulders slumped as he sat in the indicated chair, right at the front. “I've heard about you, Mr. Holmes. My sister is an acquaintance of your mother's. I'll have you know, there will be none of your nonsense here.”

“No, sir,” he agreed, head low.

The grumpy man stood up and around his own desk, leaning back on it and folding his arms.

“You'll copy out your homework. Again.”

“But, sir, it took me ages-”

“If the hour lunch break isn't good enough you can always come back after classes.”

Sherlock sighed and began copying out his homework again. He was furious and jabbed the paper so hard with his pencil that it ripped.

Mr. Gregson smiled a thin smile and snatched up the torn paper. “And now you can start again.”

He was so angry that he gripped his pencil tight. Without meaning to, Sherlock snapped it in half and threw it across the room.

The growl that Mr. Gregson let free was so audible Sherlock heard it from seven feet away. His head snapped up. “Sir, I didn't mean-”

“Shut up, Holmes. Or you'll be here tomorrow lunch as well as after school.”

Sherlock sighed again and stared at the blank paper in front of him.

“Get on with it, boy!” Gregson barked.

“I haven't got a pencil.” He didn't bother to add how the one he had had been thrown across the room.

“Idiot boy,” the teacher growled and slapped a pencil down on Sherlock's desk.

Sherlock bristled. Other people were idiots. He was a genius - Mycroft had told him so. “I'm not an idiot!”

“Do you want to spend all your free time in detention, Holmes?”

Sherlock didn't respond.

“It doesn't bother me. I have plenty you can do to assist me. I also have no issue with you sat there whilst I mark papers.”

Biting his lip, Sherlock resumed his work. He managed to get through the hour without any further outbursts, though he didn't finish.

Mr. Gregson grinned gleefully. “I'll be seeing you after school, then, Mr. Holmes.”

“Yes, sir,” he mumbled, he shoved his paper into his bag and walked from the room. John was outside waiting.

“I didn't think he'd keep you in all of lunch.”

“I suppose I'd better get used to it. What have we got now anyway?”

“Spanish. Double.”

The younger boy groaned. “You could go without me.”

John took him by the arm and dropped an apple into Sherlock's hand. “Nope, you're coming to class with me.”

Sherlock stared at the apple, not really hungry.

“Eat,” John urged him. “I don't want to listen to your stomach growling while I try to roll my Rs.”

“Then don't bother. You know the stupid woman can't even pronounce the basic verbs properly.”

“And you can?”

“Of course. Mycroft taught me when I was younger. Back when he gave a damn.”

John flinched, then tried to change the subject. “You do speak Spanish very well. I'm surprised they didn't let you skip to an advanced class in it.”

“Mummy didn't want me to be with kids too much older than myself. She thought they might bully me.” Sherlock looked away. He had already experienced some of that first hand. He didn't want to court even more.

“And anyway, I'm fluent in it. It doesn't matter what class I'm in.”

“Holmes!” Sherlock flinched. The step of Gregson coming up behind them was unmistakable.

“Yeah?” He grumbled.

Gregson shook his head and tutted, “Mr. Holmes, I will be sending a report to your mother regarding that attitude.”

“Sir, please don't, she'll never-” he cut off, looking at John.”

“Never, what, Holmes?”

“Nothing, sir.”

“Well, would the pair of you like to explain why you're late?”

Sherlock opened his mouth to argue, it was this idiot's fault in the first place, but John stamped on his foot.

“It was my fault, sir,” John replied, hoping to get an explanation out before Sherlock could get them into more trouble.

Gregson looked doubtful. “Really, Mr. Watson?”

“Yes, sir.” John looked about trying to think of something to say.

“I um… needed the toilet, sir and Sherlock doesn't know where the Spanish room.”

“You have Spanish next, Holmes? Double period?”

“Yes, sir,” he murmured, making sure to keep his head low. He had no idea why the man knew his schedule but he wasn't going to comment on it.

“Well I better come and collect you at the end of class. There can be no chance of you conveniently 'forgetting' detention then can there?”

“No, sir.” He was officially resigned to the hell of this moron's company for the evening.

“Go on then, boy, shoo. You too, Mr. Watson.”

The two boys took off at a speedy pace. When they turned the corner John started giggling. It was infectious and Sherlock started giggling too. He couldn't remember the last time he had laughed, but it felt good. “You're brilliant, John, and you lied for me.”

“Gregson is an idiot,” John smiled. “What did you do in lunch to wind him up further?”

“I may have thrown my pencil…”

“At him?” John laughed.

“No. Well… I hadn't meant to, he was just nearby.”

They were giggling as they entered the classroom. They were giggling when they left.

“I can't believe you said that to her,” John exclaimed.

“What? 'Tu es una idiota.'“ Sherlock shrugged. “Well she is. She couldn't figure out what it meant. You managed that much, even with your limited knowledge of the language.”

The blond shook his head. “I think I could have figured it out without knowing a single word of Spanish.”

“Exactly.”

The boys froze as a hand appeared on Sherlock's shoulder.

“I believe I told you to wait for me, boy!”

Sherlock swallowed awkwardly. “See you later, John.” He turned to follow his teacher without another word of complaint, of which Gregson was extremely surprised.

Sighing, Sherlock sank down into the chair and pulled out his 'homework'. He started copying it over from where he had left off earlier.

Gregson looked over Sherlock's shoulder and sniffed. “Your answers appear to be correct, but you failed to show your work. How am I supposed to know that you didn't just look up the answers?”

The boy took a deep breath. “Because the questions you gave-” Sherlock stopped himself. “I'll start again, sir,” he finished.

It was well over an hour later before Gregson allowed Sherlock to leave and that was with the admonition that he would be expected to continue his detention the next day at lunch.

Sherlock went straight to his room, hoping to find John there, but the room was empty. He threw himself down on his bed and resolutely didn't cry.

The room didn't stay empty for long.

“Hey, Sherlock! You coming down to dinner?”

The brunette glanced at the clock, it had just gone 6.

“Not hungry,” he mumbled.

“You weren't hungry at lunch either.”

“It's not my fault detention with Gregson makes me lose my appetite.”

“Don't blame you.” John reached over and tugged on his sleeve. “But you've got to eat.”

“Why do you care?”

“Because we're friends.”

“Not even mummy cares.”

John sighed and sat on the bed beside his friend. “Don't let him see that he's getting to you.”

“He's not!” He exclaimed knowing it was a lie. “As soon as I leave here he'll be at me, I just know it.”

“Then stay here and I'll bring you something back.”

Sherlock shook his head. “No. You'll just end up in trouble.”

“Don't worry about me.” John stopped in the doorway and called back, “I won't be long.”

A few minutes later, a couple of boys paused as they walked by Sherlock and John's room. “Hey look, one of them called, “It's the Freak.”

Sherlock ignored them and just rolled over. He was sure if he didn't get picked on by Gregson he would have more friends. He wasn't as snarky and full of attitude that he usually was. Gregson had quelled that immediately.

He was nearly in tears when John returned to find Gregson at their door. Sherlock stood just before them.

“Is eating in the hall not good enough for you, Holmes?”

Sherlock looked at the floor. “I wasn't hungry, Sir.”

“Ridiculous. You missed lunch, of course you're hungry.”

Sherlock didn't respond.

“Problem?” John asked, ducking under Gregson's arm.

“Where have you been then, Mr. Watson?”

“Dinner, sir.”

“Without him?”

“He said he wasn't hungry. I can't make him eat.”

When a huff was elicited and the teacher disappeared, John pulled his hands from his pockets, where he had fruit wrapped up in tissues.

Sherlock took it. He wasn't particularly hungry, but he was grateful for John's efforts. “Thank you.” He took a bite of an orange slice.

“No problem. But you look upset. What's wrong?”

“I'm fine.”

“You always say that.”

“I'm always fine.”

John sighed. “Maybe you just need to make your homework perfect, then he'll lay off?”

“It was perfect. He's just a dick.”

The blond couldn't argue.

John pulled out his laptop and looked online for a game to play just to pass the time. He'd only had the computer a few weeks. It had been bought for him to take to Eton.

“I don't understand what you see in those games.” Sherlock shook his head, completely at a loss.

“I don't know what you see in getting detention all the time.”

“I don't mean to. I was sure that I would behave well enough that I wouldn't have to stay here long.”

John smiled sadly. “Not your week, is it?”

Sherlock kicked his shoes off. “I'm bored.”

“You always say that. Instead of complaining, find something to do.”

“There isn't anything. I don't even have my violin.”

“Has your brother not spoken to you?”

“He sent me a few letters. Didn't read them though. I doubt he'd go behind mummy and send it, anyway.”

***

Before Sherlock had realised, what with having his first friend and all the extra detentions he had, the first few months had flown by and he was saying goodbye to John who was climbing in his dad's car.

Without John the christmas break was going to be even more depressing. Especially with all the extra work Gregson had given him.

Sherlock walked back to their room which seemed empty without John. He sat on the edge of his bed, knowing he should be packing, but he just couldn't bring himself to do it. Mummy wouldn't be there to pick him up until later that afternoon, anyway. If she bothered to show up at all.

It wasn't mummy who arrived to collect him but Mycroft. The Mycroft that had made him be here in the first place. The Mycroft that hadn't persuaded mummy to let him go home which could only mean he didn't want him there.

They climbed into the car. Sherlock still hadn't said a word. He was sat, staring out the window and ignoring everything his brother had to say.

“Sherlock, I've tried my upmost to get mummy to relent and let you come home, she won't give in.”

The younger boy didn't even acknowledge that he'd spoken. His brother would not have a conversation with him, he would not hear about John and he certainly wouldn't hear about Gregson.

Mycroft sighed. It wasn't like his brother to be so quiet. Even in the midst of an epic sulk, Sherlock was very vocal. He glanced over at him. “Won't you at least say something? You never answered my letters. How are things going at school?”

No. He would not speak. It may have felt like an awkward car journey to Mycroft but to Sherlock he couldn't care less. When they pulled up, the younger brother heaved his case from the back seat, ignoring Mycroft's attempts to help and dragged it through the manor and up the stairs to his room. Well, it was his room but it didn't feel like it. Not anymore. His eyes fell on the only thing in the room that mattered - his violin. He walked over to it and took it from its case. It felt like forever since he had touched it. He threw himself into playing it with abandon, forgetting everything and everyone that was making him miserable.

When he heard the downstairs door go and knew his parents were in he hastened to put it back in the case, the last thing he needed was mummy coming up here to tell him to 'keep quiet' even if it was only 4pm.

Sherlock couldn't bring himself to go downstairs. He threw himself down on his bed and tried to stay quiet. Maybe Mummy would forget that he had come home today. He was left completely alone until dinner. So either mummy really had forgotten or he was still in trouble for scaring his last tutor away. That was three months ago, couldn't she let it go?

Mrs. Holmes stood at the foot of the stairs, frowning up them. “How long will that boy stay up there?” she murmured to herself. “Sherlock Holmes, come down here this instant! It's time for dinner. The least you can do is join us and be sociable.”

He rolled off his bed and raced to the top of the stairs. “The least I could do?!” He yelled, all the anger from his months of being bullied coming out at once. “The least you could have done was not abandon the son you claimed to love! The least you could have done was take an hour out of your oh so busy not working schedule to go and pick your son up yourself!”

Mycroft joined his mother at the stairs. “I'll talk to him, Mummy. I'll explain it was my idea for me to pick him up.”

Letting out a sigh, Mrs. Holmes nodded her approval. “I just don't understand why a 10 year old boy should be so bitter.”

Mycroft shrugged and grabbed the banister to pull himself up.

He knocked, for once hesitantly, on Sherlock's bedroom door.

“Piss off!”

The older boy sighed. Sherlock's vocabulary was far too adult for a 10 year old. He reached out and pushed the door open. “I'm afraid I can't do that, 'Lock.”

Sherlock glared at him. “Don't call me that! You don't get to call me that, not ever again!”

“What's the matter? You're home now isn't that what you wanted?”

“No. I wanted to be home, knowing I didn't have to go back again.”

“It can't be that bad. All the staff are fantastic, so are the boys, they're all in the same boat.”

Sherlock looked away. “No they're not.” It had been said quietly.

His patience with his brother had reached its end. “You are being a silly brat, Sherlock. I wanted to pick you up today, so I did. You treated me like I had the plague. I've tried to talk to you, but all you want is to wallow in self pity. Enjoy yourself.”

“Bye then,” he called after him. He rolled over and punched his pillow a few times before grabbing it in a deathly tight grip. He lay there for a while before realising the amount of extra work he had to do, including the lines, he'd best make a start, he daren't not do it.

He could at least drown out the sounds of the others in the house with some music. He found his favorite CD and put it on. The earphones he wore let him pretend to be somewhere else, somewhere that people cared about him. Sherlock wiped a tear from his eye. What would John be doing right now?

***

Sherlock couldn't work out what he wanted. He had wanted to be at home with the knowledge he wasn't going back to Eton but he also didn't want to miss John. When his father had dropped him off he'd held a brief conversation with him but that was it; he had been the only one he didn't feel betrayed by.

Christmas Day had been awkward, he hadn't wanted to step out of his room and only had because his father had found a way of persuading him.

He slumped down on his bed, in his Eton room glad that this time he had his violin, and began his wait for John. The other boy had told him he wouldn't be arriving until late afternoon when they got back and Sherlock had wanted to be there at a similar time but the only time which his father could drop him off was now, which, compared to the alternative of his mother or brother dropping him off he would rather the 4/5 hour wait for his friend.

The door opened, not 10 minutes later and Sherlock jumped up, John had come early! Except it wasn't John.

“I saw you arrive, Holmes,” Gregson answered the question Sherlock hadn't asked. “I'm seriously hoping you have those lines for me. 3000 wasn't it?”

Sherlock swallowed down his disappointment and went to his bag. He dug out the lines and handed them to Gregson. He kept his gaze trained on the floor, not daring to meet the teacher's eyes.

Mr. Gregson took the papers and rifled through them, giving a snort. “Again, your penmanship is woefully lacking.”

They were just lines, they didn't have to be neat. Sherlock wished he could say that out loud but he daren't.

“Well, then, boy, you'd best come with me.”

“But, sir, I haven't unpacked-”

“The fact that you cannot write a single line in legible structure is not my fault.” He moved towards the boy and grabbed his ear. Sherlock dug in his heels as he instinctively tried to get away. It wasn't any use. Gregson had a tight grip on his ear and was using it like a handle, dragging him along in his wake. The boy didn't know what was about to happen, but he knew it wouldn't be good.

Gregson deposited Sherlock by his usual seat, right at the front.

“Sit there, Holmes,” he ordered.

Sherlock resolutely did not try to rub away the throb in his ear but tried his best to ignore it. What had John said last term? Don't let him see that he gets to him. That was easier said than done.

Gregson was stood with his arms crossed and he was staring at Sherlock who didn't know what was expected of him. The boy stared at his hands.

“Mr. Holmes, you will look me in the eyes when I talk to you.”

Sherlock made a face. The man hadn't been talking to him, he had just been staring. He glanced up nervously.

“You will write that whole 3000 out. Again.”

“Sir-”

“And you will keep doing it until you don't write like you think you are above it.”

Sherlock sighed but nodded his head. He wasn't going to win.

His hand was aching, but Sherlock wasn't about to show it. He constructed each word, each character with precision. Gregson wouldn't have anything he could possibly object to.

It had taken him an hour a day every day over the holidays and after 4 hours straight he wasn't even half way through. Gregson looked up.

“You done yet, boy?” The teacher already knew the answer but couldn't resist taunting him.

“No, sir,” he answered quietly.

“Well I daren't keep you from assembly, and you'd best go back to your room and change, don't want you going into the hall looking like a tramp.”

“No, sir,” he agreed again. He shoved the lines into his pocket.

“You'll be back tomorrow and the next day until they are done to my satisfaction.”

The boy nodded and raced from the class. He found John in their shared room; he was stood in front of the mirror, pulling his jumper over his head.

“Sherlock?! Where have you been? I saw your stuff but there was no sign of you? You know the first assembly is in 10 minutes before dinner?”

Sherlock shuffled towards his bed and started changing clothes. “Gregson,” he mumbled in explanation.

“What could you have done to get his knickers in a twist already?”

“Nothing!”

John sighed. “I know. Did you tell someone at least? Your Mum? Dad? Your brother?”

Sherlock just blew a raspberry. “Like they care.”

“You said your brother did.”

“Did being the optimum word in that sentence. I've just got to put up with it.”

“Did you at least talk to your mum about when you can go home?” John didn't particularly want his friend to leave Eton but he was clearly unhappy here especially with Gregson treating him the way he did.

“She shouted at me before even saying hello. Something about not being social.”

As they left the room, headed for assembly, John saw the violin case. “At least you got to bring your violin. Will you play something for me later? I've never seen or heard one up close before.”

That made the younger boy smile. “Yeah, ok.” He jerked in surprise when he felt a hand at his neck but chuckled nervously when he realised it was only John sorting his collar out. He stuffed his hands into his pockets.

“Don't you look in the mirror when you get ready?”

Sherlock shrugged. “Mirrors are boring.”

John stifled a giggle as they entered the assembly hall. He lost all desire to laugh when he saw Mr. Gregson staring at his friend. They'd only just walked in for God's sake.

“Let's sit at the back.”

They weren't sat there uninterrupted very long.

“You know first years sit at the front, Holmes.” Gregson had his hand on Sherlock's shoulder and the boy had stilled.

“We're second years, sir,” John pointed out.

“Don't argue with me, Mr. Watson, I know Holmes here talked you into breaking the school rules.”

“It was my-”

Sherlock trod on his foot.

“You're right, sir, of course. We're sorry, sir, we'll move to the front.”

“Right answer. About time you stayed in my sight where I can keep an eye on you.”

Sherlock struggled not to show his glee, they had got one over on Gregson. He was letting John, a true second year, sit up front with Sherlock. Maybe it wasn't much, but it felt like a victory.

When they got back to their room John relaxed back on his bed and shoved Sherlock's violin to his chest.

As the younger boy began playing John noticed how different he was. He played fluidly without pause and held a grace he hadn't seen in him before.

It seemed to be a natural stress reliever for him until;

The door was pushed in. “Detention, Holmes!” Gregson barked. “My room.”

Sherlock couldn't believe it. He'd been let out a mere 2 hours ago and apparently he'd messed up already.

Sighing, but not bothering to argue he let John take his violin and followed his teacher from the room.

***

This time it was John seeing Sherlock off. He was the only boy going home and it was only because it was his birthday tomorrow. John had given him something he had called a 'lava lamp' and Sherlock had found it fascinating, so much so that he continued to stare at it even as his mother pulled into the car park.

“See you Sunday,” John said with a grin.

Sherlock couldn't quite muster the strength to smile back. The last three weeks had been worse than the first term all together.

The first thing Sherlock did when he got home was plug in the lava lamp. He sat on the edge of his bed and watched the red liquid rise and fall. It was oddly soothing.

When his mother called him to come downstairs later, he didn't bother to argue. He just climbed off his bed and shuffled down the stairs and into the kitchen. He laid the table when he was ordered and even moved seats when Mycroft told him that was where he now sat. He ate everything on his plate, including the asparagus that he knew mummy put there deliberately.

“I don't want to be woken at 3am when you decide to have a mid night play along with that violin of yours.”

“No mummy.”

As soon as he could, he left the table and retreated to his room. The lamp was still flowing, so he sat and watched it, wishing he was back at school with John.

Mycroft stepped into his brother's room, Sherlock hadn't bothered locking the door. “Happy birthday, baby brother.”

Sherlock sighed. “It's not my birthday until tomorrow.”

Mycroft rolled his eyes. “I was only trying to be pleasant, Sherlock, I should have known you hadn't grown up in the last few weeks that you've been away.”

He turned on his heel and marched off towards his own room.

That was fine. Since Mycroft didn't care about him, he didn't want his presence anyway. Sherlock was perfectly happy to be by himself. He was! He lay down on his bed and watched the lava lamp, eventually drifting off to sleep.

The following morning he was awoken to a knock on his bedroom door.

He sat up straight away and remembered he was at the manor, not school, no Gregson here.

“Yeah?” He called quietly.

His father pushed the door in holding a tray. “Happy birthday, son.”

Sherlock smiled slightly and caught sight of Mycroft as he walked passed the door not even glancing in.

Sherlock for some reason, was immediately over emotional and he choked back a sob. He knew Mycroft had nothing to do today and yet he'd kept walking…

“Son?” his father asked. “Is everything alright?”

“I'm fine, Dad.” Sherlock mustered up a semi-convincing smile. He held out his hands to take the breakfast tray. There were pancakes on it with syrup smiley faces.

“Your mother apologises but she's had to go and see her sister. Family emergency.”

Sherlock nodded. That was fine, he didn't want to see her anyway.

“What have you got there, lad?” He asked, indicating the lava lamp that was still flowing.

“It's...” Sherlock didn't want to talk about the lamp or John, his family didn't deserve to know any of that, but he had to say something. “It's a lava lamp. It's nice.” He gave a little shrug. “I got it at school.”

Mr. Holmes watched it for a moment, mesmerised himself. “What about your violin, haven't heard it in a very long time.”

“I'd rather not play it at home.”

His father frowned. “That doesn't seem like you.”

Sherlock shrugged again. “I wouldn't want to disturb anyone.”

“That definitely doesn't seem like you.” He tousled his boy's hair. “Well, go ahead and eat. And by all means play something. You won't disturb anyone at this hour.”

Sherlock smiled sheepishly, nodding.

Mr. Holmes wandered down the stairs and collapsed into one of the seats at the table, opposite his eldest son. “Does something seem odd with your brother since he's been back?”

Mycroft thought for a moment, then shook his head. “He's just being a little brat. I tried talking to him, but it was pointless.” He bit into his toast viciously, taking out his frustration on it. “I doubt turning 11 will improve him any.”

Mr. Holmes lifted his paper and stared at it for a moment, not reading. He lowered it again. “He's quiet though, isn't he? I haven't heard his violin in over well… months. Your mother made him come home for his birthday weekend to spend time with us. Try and talk to him, Myc, he adores you.”

Mycroft stood and crossed the room. He went to the foot of the stairs and looked up them. He wasn't sure Sherlock adored him anymore. He wasn't sure Sherlock cared for him at all.

Mycroft climbed the stairs and peeked into his brother's room. “Can we talk, Sherlock? Dad's worried about you.”

Sherlock was still tucked up under his duvet, having cleared his plate. Mycroft gaped at the blank crockery for a moment before meeting his brother's rather dejected gaze.

“So 11, then,” he offered for lack of anything else to say.

The younger boy nodded. “Sorry, Mycroft,” he muttered.

Mycroft breathed a bit easier, though it was strange hearing his brother apologise for something. “It's ok, 'Lo... Sherlock.” He took a step further into the room. “Is there something bothering you? Something at school?”

“It's not school.” Sherlock rolled onto his side and faced the wall. “It's nothing. It doesn't matter.”

“You can tell me, you know.” He risked another step into the room and then another until he was brought to his little brother's bedside. He lowered his hand to his shoulder more than surprised at Sherlock's sudden flinch.

“I told you it's nothing.” Sherlock pulled the duvet up and over his head. “Go away.”

Mycroft pulled his hand away, feeling disappointed. “At least come down and spend some time with us, Sherlock. We've missed you.”

Mycroft heard his brother choke back a sob. He tried to pry the duvet from his fingers but they were holding on too tightly. He gathered the tray up instead and turned on his heel. Something was definitely wrong with his little brother.

It was an hour later when Sherlock made his way down the stairs. He had got dressed into some of his best clothes and sat awkwardly in one of the arm chairs across from where his father was sitting.

“Mycroft said you were upset, what's wrong?”

“Nothing, dad. Everything's fine.”

“I worry about you, son.”

Sherlock decided not to comment on that as the door opened behind him and mummy came in.

“False alarm,” she said at her husband's look. “Oh, Sherlock, decided to join the family today, have you?”

Sherlock glanced up at his mother and tried to give her a smile, but it was a sickly thing. He looked down at the floor quickly in the hopes that she hadn't seen. When she bustled on through to the kitchen, he knew he had got away with it.

His father hadn't. “She's just worried about you.”

Sherlock wanted to say, if she was worried about me she wouldn't have sent me away. Instead he just nodded.

The day dragged by in what seemed like never ending boredom. Sherlock's father tried to engage him a few times in conversation, even going so far as to bring out a couple of board games. Sherlock played, but his heart wasn't in it and he didn't win. He didn't argue when it came time to eat lunch and he was almost grateful when dinner came around because that meant the day was almost over.

Both his parents watched him, worriedly as he asked to leave the table, leaving a clean plate behind. He never asked to leave the table and he never ate everything let alone without an argument first.

Resigned to the fact he was going to have to go back to school and deal with Gregson for another endless amount of weeks he slouched upstairs.

Sherlock had been in his room for a few minutes when his family appeared at the door. He had been so miserable that he hadn't even noticed the lack of presents or cake. That lack was being made up for now, but he couldn't bring himself to really care. It was all for show, anyway.

Mycroft went first and as Sherlock opened the long thin present he was surprised that his skills of deduction hadn't interrupted his thoughts and told him it was a new bow for his violin, thinking back on the last few weeks he hadn't deduced anywhere near the amount he had used to.

The gift from his parents was blank sheet music and a calligraphy pen. For one moment, it was almost enough to make him think they cared. He glanced at the cake his mother held, it had eleven candles on it equally spaced out.

“You going to blow them out then, lad?” Mr. Holmes asked.

He nearly said no but one glance at Mycroft changed his mind. He blew them all out in one go and then collapsed in the seat by his desk again.

“Happy birthday, Sherlock,” Mycroft offered.

Sherlock nodded, then thought something more might be expected. “Thank you, Mycroft. Dad. Mummy. Thank you for the presents. They are nice.”

“Was that a thank you? An actual thank you?” Mr. Holmes was gobsmacked.

Sherlock smiled sheepishly.

“No complaints?” Mummy asked with her hands on her hips.

His only complaint was that he wasn't really wanted and had to go back to Eton, back to Gregson. At least he'd get to see John. “No, Mummy. No complaints. It's all good.”

The following day was just as drab as his birthday had been. He had never been the most enthusiastic on his birthday but he had usually been more cheery.

Sherlock had packed his new pen and staff paper in his bag way before he was ready to leave. He'd tried his hand at composing in the past on regular paper, nothing complex, but he had thought it was decent. It would be easier on proper paper.

He also packed his lava lamp very carefully in his suitcase. It had prooved to be soothing when nothing else had worked. Or maybe that had just been the thought of John.

“As you were so specific the last time you were home, who do you want to drive you there?” Mummy asked as he dragged his case down the stairs once again. He was getting used to it now. There was a time he would have said Mycroft, but not anymore. “Dad can take me.” He ignored Mycroft's hurt look and climbed in his father's car.

He was more than happy to see John waiting when they arrived but less than happy to see his teacher coming from another building. In his direction. Sherlock knew there was no avoiding Gregson, so he grit his teeth and turned in his direction. Hopefully whatever trouble that was about to descend upon him wouldn't be too bad.

John sighed as he noticed Gregson headed in their direction. He grabbed Sherlock's sleeve. “Come on.”

“I can't John, I'll get it worse.”

“No, maybe you won't get it at all,” John countered.

That hope was dashed when Gregson called out, “I trust you completed the special assignment while you were away.”

Sherlock's brow furrowed. He hadn't been issued a special assignment.

“Yes, sir,” he lied.

That halted Gregson in his tracks. He stared at the two boys. “On your way Mr. Watson.”

“But, sir, he hasn't done anything wrong.”

“I said, on your way, Mr. Watson!”

Sherlock jerked his head towards the dormatory, encouraging his friend to go. John reluctantly went.

When they were alone, Gregson took a step closer. “You are a liar, Mr. Holmes. There was no special assignment.”

And what, Sherlock wondered, did that make Gregson? A bullying ass, at the very least.

What did you expect me to say! Sherlock yelled in his head. But once again he kept his mouth shut.

“Yes, sir.”

“Then what am I going to do with you boy?”

“Detention, sir?” He sighed already picking his case up and heading in the direction of Gregson's room.

“You might as well make yourself useful, Mr. Holmes.” Gregson pointed to the lab equipment in the corner. “Get to cleaning and don't break anything.”

Head lowered, Sherlock made his way across the room to the sink and began the warm water. Gregson must have deliberately used all of the most gruesome stuff he could find in Friday's classes and thrown together hundreds of experiments that would leave behind a mess this morning in the chemistry club.

It was late evening by the time he was let out and he slumped, achingly towards his dorm, his case rattling along behind him.

John was waiting for him with a sympathetic smile and food smuggled in from dinner. “Here, you eat. I'll unpack for you.”

Sherlock blinked at him.

“That is, if you don't mind.” John looked suddenly awkward.

“It's not that,” he murmured, sinking down to his bed, his head lowered to his hands. “It's just, you always seem to know what to do. And you always look out for me despite the trouble you could end up in. I don't know what these last few months would have been like without you.”

John shrugged and started unpacking Sherlock's case. “I told you once before that you're my friend. You're my best friend. We look out for each other.”

“But how do I look out for you?”

“I'm passing Spanish, aren't I? That's down to you. I'm also passing classes I didn't know existed before I came here and that's also thanks to you.”

“I don't do anything. Just point out when you're being an idiot.”

“By you pointing out when I'm being an idiot it tells me where I'm going wrong. Helps me to put it right.”

John grinned. “So, ta for that.”

That lightened Sherlock's mood and made him giggle. “I've never had someone thank me for calling them an idiot before.”

The blond tossed a shirt at his friend's head. “Don't get used to it. I doubt I'll do it again.”

“I wish you could come over mine some time. But I haven't told mummy about you. So it would be a bit of a shock.”

“Why don't you write to her, then? Tell her about me? I don't mind going home for the holiday, but if I could spend it with you, that would be brilliant.”

Sherlock bit his lip. “You really wouldn't mind?”

“Not only wouldn't I mind, I'd love to.”

“Maybe I'll speak to her when we go home for Easter. She won't listen if it's in writing. She'll think I will want something.”

“Have you told your brother?”

Sherlock shook his head. “He's getting as bad as they are.”

“I'm sorry.”

Sherlock shrugged. “It's not your fault.”

“I know, it's just...” John couldn't explain how he felt. He just wished he could make things better for his friend.

After many more detentions and many more copies of the same piece of homework it was a few days from the break and Sherlock was exhausted.

John came in from dinner, once again smuggling him in some food. He was actually beginning to wish he could sit in the hall and eat with everyone else, it just seemed Gregson was determined for that not to happen.

“For once I'm actually looking forward to mummy picking me up. It will give me the chance to talk about you.”

“Are you sure that she will?”

“She should do. It is technically her turn.”

Except when the time to leave came around it wasn't mummy behind the wheel. Once again it was Mycroft who picked him up and he just sat dejected looking out of the window.

Mycroft observed his brother from the corner of his eye. He had given a lot of thought to what his father had said when his brother had been home for his birthday. Seeing Sherlock now, he was convinced that something was indeed wrong. He was simply too subdued. “How are classes going, baby brother?”

“Okay, I guess,” he said quietly. “I'm top of my class for nearly everything.”

“Nearly?” Damn! He shouldn't have said that.

“Not chemistry.”

Mycroft frowned. Sherlock loved chemistry. He made his tone sound neutral. “That doesn't make sense, 'Lock. You can do chemistry in your sleep. By rights, you should have been advanced to a higher class. You should try harder if you're not getting it or ask for help.”

“I'm not struggling at it, Mycroft, it's just… doesn't matter,” he finished.

There was something there, but Mycroft knew better than to push just yet. He'd keep trying over the holiday, though. “How about friends? Surely you've made some by now.”

“I suppose,” he glanced back out of the window.

What was with the sudden questions? Why did Mycroft suddenly care?

Mycroft decided to give it one last go. After all, his brother hadn't objected to being called 'Lock a few moments ago. “If anything is bothering you, please know you can tell me. I worry about you.”

“I'm fine, Mycroft. Honest.”

Mycroft didn't like this. Not one bit. 'Myc' hadn't been used once in this conversation and Sherlock's answers had been extremely short. He heard the distinctive sound of his baby brothers head thudding against the window and sighed.

“Do you want me to take your case?” Mycroft offered as he climbed from his car.

Sherlock shook his head. “It's alright.”

Later that day, Mycroft stuck his head in his brother's room. The lava lamp had made a reappearance. “So, did someone give you that, 'Lock?” Mycroft gestured towards the lamp. He deliberately used the nick name but the rise he had expected didn't come.

Sherlock nodded, but didn't say anything.

“Who?”

“Someone from school.”

“A friend?”

He nodded, not taking his eyes from the swirling colours.

“You never mentioned a friend gave you a birthday present Sherlock.” It wasn't hard to deduce now he knew about said friend.

“No one asked,” he whispered quietly.

“When did you meet him then?” Mycroft moved into the room slowly incase Sherlock decided he wanted to be alone.

“The day I first arrived.”

“And?”

“And, what?”

Mycroft forced himself to continue sounding calm and nonconfrontational. “What is his name? What's he like?”

“John Watson,” Sherlock mumbled. “And he's nice. He doesn't think I'm a freak and he helps me when...” He broke off and shrugged. “Like I said, he's nice.”

There was more to it then that. “Well mummy says to bring you down for dinner. To drag you kicking and screaming if I have to.”

Sherlock immediately got to his feet and wandered passed his brother, once again, head low.

Just as he had done while home for his birthday, Sherlock ate without complaining. Mycroft exchanged worried looks with his parents, wishing he knew what was wrong. If he could just talk to this John Watson, he could find out the problem in no time, but the school wouldn't release the boy's contact information without good reason. It was frustrating.

“Did you know that Sherlock has made a new friend at school, mummy?” The older brother asked.

“A friend? Really Sherlock?” His mother questioned.

He nodded his head while staring at the plate.

Mr. Holmes smiled. “You should invite him to visit the next time you come home. We'd all like to meet him. What's he like?”

Sherlock gaped. Had he heard correctly? He gave himself a little shake. “He's nice. Wants to be a doctor.”

Mycroft decided there and then that if this boy who was clearly intelligent on his own merit, chose to spend time with Sherlock and managed to make him eat, (he'd deduced that from the fact Sherlock hadn't lost any weight) then this boy was a legend in his own making.

“He told me that I was an idiot for wanting to be a pirate but I was clever so I could be a detective if I wanted.”

Mr. Holmes smiled. “He sounds like a bright lad.”

“Maybe John could come over at the end of the holiday? You could phone him and I don't mind going to pick him up. Then I'll drop the both of you back at school on Sunday.” Seeing as his parents had already given their permission Mycroft didn't see the problem with being forward about the impending visit.

For the first time in a very long while, Sherlock's eyes lit up. “Really?”

“Yes, really. Go phone him right now.”

Sherlock was up and off in a flash. Once he had left the room, Mr. Holmes asked, “What was that about?”

Mycroft pursed his lips, then answered, “It's about getting to the bottom of what's got Sherlock so upset.”

“He's been upset since Christmas,” Mrs. Holmes pointed out. She wasn't as concerned as the other two seemed to be.

“He's worse now than he was then.”

“He's just attention seeking. Have you not seen how he barely speaks to me?”

“He barely speaks. Full stop. For once, mummy,” Mycroft growled. “It isn't all about you.”

He pushed his chair back as he stood and went off in search of his brother.

“I'm sorry, dear, but Myc is right, Sherlock has not been himself.”

Mrs. Holmes sniffed, clearly unconvinced. Their youngest had always been manipulative. How was this time any different?

Her husband gave her a look. He knew what she was thinking. “It is different. I don't know why, but it is.”

When Sherlock came back in looking more dejected than when he had earlier Mr. Holmes caught his arm. “What is it, son?”

“John's dad wanted to talk to you.”

“Why is that a problem?”

He glanced at both of his parents individually for a moment. “You mean you will?”

“I'll be happy to talk to him. Get him back on the phone.”

Sherlock ran to the nearest phone and dialled John's number again. “Mr. Watson? It's Sherlock, sir. My dad can talk to you after all.” He grinned and held out the phone to Mr. Holmes who had walked over to stand by his side.

He rested his hand on his son's shoulder as he held the phone to his ear.

Sherlock caught sight of Mycroft hovering suspiciously out in the hall. His attention shifted from his dad to his brother. He couldn't help but wonder why Mycroft was hanging about. And why had he offered to get John in the first place. If Mycroft ruined their friendship, he would never forgive him. Never!

“Well, there's that sorted, then. John has permission to come for a visit.”

Sherlock had been so distracted by his brother he hadn't noticed the conversation next to him had come to a halt.

“When? Now?”

“Well, whenever. John had already spoken to his dad about it. Question is, son, why didn't you bring it up here? And how come this is the first we've known of him?”

Sherlock scuffed the floor with the side of his shoe. “I was going to ask, but... I didn't think you'd let him come.”

His father let out a sigh, wondering where he had gone wrong to give the boy such an impression.

“Why didn't you mention him?”

“I-”

“A better question is,” Mrs. Holmes cut him off. “Why don't you talk about school at all?”

Sherlock felt trapped. Nothing he said would be believed. He was just a child, after all. “It's just, school. It's boring.”

“Well, of course it is.” Mrs Holmes rolled her eyes and Sherlock couldn't help his slight flinch.

Mr. Holmes noticed but Sherlock was already hurrying from the room and up the stairs.

“Mycroft, would you go and collect John? He never unpacked from school so he's ready.”

“Of course, father. Shall I tell Sherlock?”

“No, leave him to me,” Mr. Holmes smiled reassuringly at his eldest.

He handed Mycroft the directions he had written down while on the phone. The Watson's lived a mere 20 minutes away.

Mycroft took them gladly. He was looking forward to some time alone with this friend of his brother's.

After a quick knock Mr. Holmes pushed open Sherlock's door. He went and sat beside him on the bed. “Now what is the real reason you don't talk about school? Oh, come on, Sherlock don't look at me like that, it's obvious you're unhappy.”

“I'm not. I'm fine. And it doesn't matter whether I'm unhappy or not. Mummy made me go knowing I would hate it. 8 months later she is hardly going to change her mind.”

“You've got a friend, now. Do you want her to change her mind?”

Sherlock thought of John - he'd miss him if he didn't go back. He thought of Gregson - he never wanted to see him again. Besides, he missed Mycroft, well, the old Mycroft, the one who hadn't wanted to send him away. Sherlock gave a noncomittal shrug.

“John doesn't live that far. I would still get to see him if I left school.” He thought of all the extra work. Gregson had gave him even more than over Christmas apparently seeing as he had managed to do it all 'he hadn't been given enough' well nobody else seemed to get the work. There was a chance with John living so close that they could share a tutor. “So yes, I do want her to change her mind.”

Mr. Holmes nodded, not really surprised by the answer, but wondering what was behind it. “Then let's see about convincing her.” He gave his son a wink.

“Really?”

“This isn't like you, Sherlock. I know the normal you can be quite a rebellious little bugger but that is you. Now shall we set up the camp bed for John, or give him his own room?”

“The camp bed,” Sherlock said instantly. This was almost too good to be true. They'd be able to talk into the night like they did at school. The holiday wouldn't be boring after all.

***

Mycroft sat in the car outside John's house after a quick chat with his father. It was actually quite a nice place and had managed to deduce as much about it without even meeting John.

When the blond joined him in the car, Mycroft sensed a bit of unease on the boy's part. “I won't bite you, John. It's safe to relax.”

John gave him a smile. “Sorry, Mycroft. Just, from what Sherlock's said about you, I'm not sure what to expect.”

Mycroft liked the boy already. He had a forthright manner unusual in most adults, let alone a child of his age.

“What has Sherlock said about me then?”

The boy froze and Mycroft immediately recognised his mistake.

“It's ok don't answer that. He can tell me. So what exactly has been going on at Eton?” Best just to jump straight in.

John bit his lip and looked over at Mycroft. “He hasn't told you anything, I know. He said you wouldn't believe him.”

“I'll believe anything either he or you choose to tell me. It's clear that Sherlock's not happy and I need to know why.”

“It's not really my place.”

“Is my brother being treated the same as you at Eton? As the other boys?”

John's look said it all.

Mycroft reversed out of John's drive and pulled into traffic. “Tell me everything.”

The more John talked, the angrier Mycroft got. This Gregson person would be dealt with and Sherlock would not be going back to that school. Something would have to be done to keep John and Sherlock's friendship alive, but that could be dealt with.

When John was done speaking he froze. Mycroft's grip on the wheel was bone white and he had tensed up. The boy immediately worried.

“I'm sorry, I tried to stop him… I tried to help Sherlock but…”

Mycroft made himself release the wheel and give the boy a reassuring look. “Knowing Sherlock, you did the best you could. Leave the rest to me.”

John nodded slowly, not sure what to think but he couldn't leave it there.

“He was missing dinner a lot and… well I used to sneak food to him but started getting in trouble. When Gregson realised I didn't care as long as Sherlock got to eat he would just keep him later so I couldn't…” he trailed off.

***

In his bedroom Sherlock had deduced his brother would be late with John. Traffic would be a bother so he made a start on one of the extra essays and that was how John and Mycroft found him, just over an hour later.

Mycroft walked over to where Sherlock was sat and gently took the essay from his brother's hands. He very deliberately tore the entire thing in two. “There will be no more need for that, little brother.”

Sherlock's face screwed up in anger and disbelief. John's own face wore a look of shock.

“Mycroft!” Sherlock snapped. “That was my homework!”

“John, do you have any homework for the holidays?”

He looked down at his shoes. He couldn't lie to Mycroft.

“So you don't either.” Mycroft hadn't expected any other answer. He looked at his brother's outraged face. “I'll speak with Mummy, 'Lock. You are not to concern yourself with any so called homework. Have fun with John. Enjoy being a child for a change.” He turned and stomped of, determined to have that talk sooner than later.

“Mycroft! I can't not do it.”

“Why? What will happen if you don't?” His older brother had turned from the door.

He looked away. He couldn't meet Mycroft's eye and he certainly couldn't meet John's.

“I am talking to mummy about this. Right now.”

“She knows!” Sherlock yelled but it turned into a sob. John stepped forward and let Sherlock burrow into him.

Mycroft's fists had clenched at his sides. “What do you mean mummy knows?” He should be asking why Sherlock was hugging someone through his own choice but he guessed that was also down to this infamous John Watson.

“Mr. Gregson has been speaking to her for months.”

“I'll see about that,” Mycroft snarled, his face twisted in an uncharacteristic show of rage. “What has been happening is unacceptable. Mother can damned well explain herself to me.”

“Myc,” Sherlock tried again. “It's not worth it. It won't make a difference. She'll just be mad at you too.”

“I can look after myself, Sherlock, I am a big boy.”

“What and I can't? Yes, I've had John but I haven't had you!”

“Oh, 'Lock. You've always had me. You just didn't realise. Let me do this.”

“She'll just tell Gregson and he'll only get worse.”

Mycroft tried another tactic. “Then I'll talk to Father. He normally let's her have her way, but he's been worried about you too. He'll take your side.”

“I don't want him to take sides! He shouldn't have to. If you do this and for some reason he does pick me it will split the family apart. The precious family name.”

“You mean more than the family name.”

“That's bollocks and you know it.” Sherlock did not sound like an eleven year old. Sherlock sounded sixteen. “And as for having you… you were the reason I was there in the first place. So you can piss off, I can look after myself. I've had to.”

Mycroft left his brother's room, shaking his head, but no less determined to speak to his parents.

Sherlock started to follow him, but John caught him by the arm. “You don't really mean all that about the family name.”

“Don't I? They have made it perfectly clear that keeping me at home was no longer an option. That Eton could 'deal with me' better than they could. All I ever wanted was to be accepted by them, they sent me away.”

John flinched, but he was used to Sherlock's moods and this was too important to let it go. “I didn't get that impression from Mycroft when we were in the car talking. He sounded very interested in you. Not just like he was worried, but like he missed you. Shouldn't that count for something?”

Sherlock threw himself down on his bed. “You just don't understand.”

Sitting on the camp bed, John agreed, “I guess you're right.”

“Don't be like that.”

John decided the only way he was going to get through to Sherlock was act like Sherlock. So he just rolled over and faced the opposite direction to the other boy.

“John…” Sherlock trailed off, he hadn't meant to upset his friend, before he could continue there was yelling coming from down the stairs.

“No, he will not be returning home,” Mrs. Holmes stated. “He will be going back to Eton.”

“Wrong,” Mycroft and Mr. Holmes said together.

Mycroft continued, “He's being bullied by this Gregson at your instigation. As a result he is miserable. It's a miracle he's managed to make even one friend.”

“At Christmas he spent so much time in his room you never noticed… that was the extra work he was being made to do?”

“Yes, god damn it I should have seen it then. You know he is kept in detention so late, the only time he gets to eat is when John smuggles food from the hall.”

Mrs. Holmes sat down hard, covering her face with her hands. “He's always been so thin and I assumed everyone had work to do...” She broke off in a sob.

Neither her son nor her husband were moved to comfort her. Sherlock barged in John trying to hold him back.

“Myc, I told you not to-”

“No, little brother. You can't seriously think I would find out something like and not mention it.”

“Of course I can!”

“And I won't get to see John!” His earlier thoughts of them sharing a tutor had just been a dream and he knew it. He'd lose his best friend. Try as he might, he couldn't keep the tears from welling up in his eyes.

“Sherlock,” Mycroft started. “I'm not this evil dictat-”

He'd didn't get the chance to finish. Sherlock was gone and out the front door.

Mycroft started after him, but John made it out the door first.

Mr. Holmes grabbed his eldest son by the arm. “Let John talk to him. He is his friend.”

“And I've left him to his friend far too long and so have you! John is more of a brother to Sherlock than I have been and he's only known him a few months! Wait here by all means but I am in not abandoning him again!”

Mycroft ran out the door and found John trying to calm Sherlock. He took his brother in his arms and held him despite Sherlock's attempts at getting away. “I'm going to find a way to make things right by you, baby brother, if it takes me the rest if my life. We'll find a way for you and John to stay friends. Trust me.”

Sherlock fought and fought, trying to get free. “Why should I?!”

Tears weren't just welling up in John's eyes but Mycroft's too. He said something he hadn't said in ages, “Because I love you, 'Lock.”

The little boy went quiet and he looked up at his brother with wide eyes. “You do?”

“More than anything.”

Sherlock stopped fighting he just sunk into his older brother's grip.

“I didn't think you did anymore.”

“Of course I do. I should have said so before now.” Mycroft pulled out a handkerchief and wiped his brother's eyes.

John was happy that Sherlock seemed calmer and he was pleased that his friend wouldn't have to put up with Gregson anymore, but he was going to miss him something dreadful at school.

“I can't,” Sherlock whispered.

“Can't what, little one?”

“Leave Eton.”

“Why not?” Mycroft knelt down beside him so he was more at head height level.

“A) Mummy. B) I can't leave John there.”

Mycroft looked into his brother's eyes. “Mummy is not an issue and John...” He glanced towards the blond then back to Sherlock. “Perhaps something can be done. I'll speak to his father. Tutors can teach two as easily as one. That is, if you're interested, John.” Now his gaze fell steadily on the older of the two boys.

“Of course I'm interested,” he said with a grin.

Mycroft glanced up and spotted their parents at the door.

When Mrs Holmes stepped forward Mycroft held his hand up. “don't.”

Mr. Holmes put his hand on her shoulder and squeezed, emphasizing his son's point. “I heard what you had to say, son, and it's an excellent idea. I'll phone Mr. Watson myself and see what can be arranged.” He shifted his gaze to the boys. “Why don't you two go to the kitchen and find something to drink and calm down a bit?”

“I'm fine,” Sherlock hissed glaring at Mrs. Holmes. “I don't need to calm down.”

Mycroft squeezed his shoulders. “Go on. I need to talk to them. Show John the way.”

Sherlock acquiesced for John's sake - his friend was obviously uncomfortable with the entire situation.

“Do you think...” John began. “It would be... I wish...” He was ringing his hands.

“Perhaps you could struggle to the end of a sentence,” Sherlock suggested, but he softened his words with a half hearted smile.

“I hope I can study here with you,” John blurted out.

Mycroft actually sent daggers at his mother then ruffled both boys' hair. He glanced to Mr Holmes. It would be more sincere coming from him.

“I'll arrange it, John, don't worry.”

John, who was much more demonstrable of his emotions, impulsively hugged the man. “Thank you,” he said sincerely. “I've never had a friend like Sherlock before. He's amazing.”

Mrs. Holmes stood gaping as her husband ushered them back into the house. She had never seen anyone so infatuated with her youngest son before. Besotted even.

In the kitchen, John tried to hover by the door. He wanted to listen to the conversation Sherlock's father was about to have with his Dad. Sherlock was having none of it, however. He tugged the blond boy over to the fridge and got them each a glass of juice.

“You'd really rather study here with me than go back to school?” Sherlock sounded pleasantly surprised.

“Of course I would. I would go back to school alone if it meant you were kept away from Gregson.”

Sherlock smiled.

“What's going to happen to him, do you think?” John asked.

“I hope he gets chucked out on his bum. Maybe he'll bounce a few times on the way out the door.”

“It's too bad we won't be there to see that.”

“I wouldn't be too convinced that this is actually going to happen. Mycroft always said I wouldn't have to go in the first place if I didn't want to but mummy always gets her own way. She'll no doubt make me go back.”

At the sob from the other side of the door, the boys realised that Mrs. Holmes must have heard all of that. She pushed her way through the door, dabbing at her eyes. She looked everywhere but at her son. “I thought I was doing what was best. You won't believe or understand that, but I did. I never intended for things to go so wrong.”

Sherlock turned his back on her. “Well, Mummy, things did.”

“What did you think was happening to him when you spoke to Gregson?” Mycroft asked from behind her.

“I… he said he was ensuring that Sherlock gave all teachers the respect they deserved, that he wasn't allowed to get away with any nonsense.”

“Do you know the first thing he said to Sherlock?” John asked. The look on his friend's face had made him angry at his mother, more so than he was at the disappearance of his own. “'I'm going to enjoy our time together' and Sherlock grinned. Only to find out that meant detention whenever he wasn't in class.”

Sherlock had screwed his face up in anger at his mother's such obliviousness.

“So you didn't know the details,” Mycroft growled. “But how could you be so naive and oblivious?!”

“I was stupid, I know that now!” Mrs Holmes cried. “Let me make it right. He can study at home, if he wants.”

Mr. Holmes shook his head, joining. “It will take much more than that, I'm afraid. Only time can fix this. Time and you treating him with respect.”

“Your father says you may spend as long as you like here. If you want to go home, Sherlock can go with you.”

“What about school, Mr. Holmes?” John asked when Sherlock had let him go from the spontaneous hug.

Mr. Holmes grinned. “Siger, John. And he says a private tutor is fine, as long as he is allowed to participate in at least some of the financial costs despite my attempts at saying you had done more than enough for Sherlock to be payment enough.”

Mr. Holmes and Mycroft exchanged satisfied smiles as the two boys grinned at each other and scampered from the room, their worries and troubles already forgotten.

“I have one more person that I need to see,” Mycroft whispered in his father's ear.

“I am right with you, son,” he turned to his wife. “I recommend you keep away from Sherlock until we can talk about this more. One of you will do something you regret.”

Mrs. Holmes sniffed. “I don't see why anything has to be said, he was...”

“Violet! Enough!” Shouted Mr. Holmes. “It's not to be discussed in front of the boys.”

“The boys have gone upstairs!” She responded.

Mr. Holmes just rolled his eyes. “Boys!” He yelled up the stairs. “They'll come with us then.”

Sherlock's head appeared first and then John's.

“Get in the car. You can collect the rest of your stuff at Eton.”

No sooner had they arrived, than Gregson spotted them. He altered course and headed towards Sherlock with an evil look on his face. “I see you were too much to handle at home, Mr. Holmes.”

Sherlock froze.

His brother and father had headed off towards reception, just missing the other man's arrival.

Sherlock was beginning to think the last few hours were a dream. Everything that had been said… been done. And they were still back at Eton.

“Seems you were right, sir.”

This had all been a set up. Been driven all the way here and then abandoned. Again.

“So much trouble your parents can't even cope with you for more than a day.”

“Yes, sir.”

John stepped between his friend and Gregson. “We're here to pack, sir. We won't be staying. We're going home.”

Gregson curled his lip. “Somehow I doubt that. You'll both be coming with me this time.”

“No, we won't.” John could be just as stubborn as Gregson. If you don't believe us, you can take us to reception.”

“Mind your tone, boy! Perhaps Holmes  
Needs to spend even longer in detention. He's clearly a bad influence on you.”

“He's not a bad influence!” John argued.

Sherlock remained quiet, his head low. Gregson stepped forward and snatched his ear between his fingers, he didn't argue as he was being pulled towards his classroom. “You too Watson.”

The headmaster was suitably distressed by what Mycroft and Mr. Holmes had to say and sent immediately for Gregson. He arrived alone, having left the two boys behind to write lines.

John looked over at his friend. “He made you do this everyday?”

“For 8 months. It's fine. You kind of get used to it.”

When the door swung in both boys flinched. Sherlock's head snapped up to see Mycroft. He hurriedly over and grabbed both boys pulling them to their feet.

“You don't have to worry about Gregson anymore. In fact, no one does. I doubt the headmaster will remain much longer either. He should have been aware of what was going on at his school.” Mycroft replaced his anger with a smile. “Now let's get you two packed.”

“But what about-”

“Leave it, 'Lock. He's gone. For good.”

“I thought you were tricking me. We got here and you and dad disappeared and then Gregson was there and…”

“Shh,” Mycroft whispered.

“But that means there is no reason why I can't stay here now.”

Mycroft looked surprised. “Do you want to? It's your choice, of course, but...” He tried to hide his disappointment. He'd miss his brother.

It was John who stepped in. “But won't you miss your Dad and Mycroft?”

“Of course.” Sherlock frowned at the two of them. “I don't want to stay here!” He snapped. “But mummy has nothing to keep me at home. She doesn't want me there. She'll make me come here. She'll make me and I'll hate just as much!”

Mycroft was getting frustrated. “For the last time, Mummy has lost all say so where it comes to you. It's down to me and Father. If he should change his mind, well, I'll be 18 within the year. If I must, I'll simply move out and take you with me. That's the end of it.”

Sherlock was still incredibly quite as Mycroft encouraged them towards their room to collect the rest of their things. They met their father at the door of the room and he helped them to pack up the rest of their stuff.

When they got back to the house, Mr. Watson was there. He was talking animatedly to Mrs. Holmes, praising her youngest son for being such a good friend to John and for helping him with his studies. He wanted to meet the boy that had helped his son not only pass, but excel at Spanish.

Mrs. Holmes however, wasn't commenting.

“Dad!” John yelled, running forward to hug him.

“Alright, son?” He looked up as the brothers came in. “Are you going to introduce us, John?”

John grinned. “Well, this is Mr. Holmes.”

“Siger,” he corrected.

“And you've met Mycroft.” John pulled Sherlock to the front of the group by the arm. “And this is my friend, Sherlock.”

Mr. Watson held out his hand and Sherlock remembered his first meeting with John. He held out his own hand and shook. “It's good to meet you, sir.”

Mrs. Holmes gaped. Perhaps John was a good influence on her son.

“So you're the boy that exceeded expectations in my son's grades.”

“Yes, sir. But he helped me far more than I could ever say.”

Mr. Watson laughed. “I guess you just make a good team. That's why we're not breaking you up. Of course we expect continued excellence from the pair of you.” His tone was stern, but he was smiling. “But I'm not worried a bit.”

Mr. Holmes stepped into the room and dropped his hand on Sherlock's shoulder. “Me neither.”


End file.
